Hard to be Faithful
by Abarraine
Summary: Poor Lily, all she wants is to drink a warm butterbeer out of the rain with a sweet guy. And all James wanted was to not be betrowthed...
1. Chapter 1

disclaimer: I own nothing but my own random thoughts.

author's note: I love writing, came up with this when I was bored, bare with me, reviews keep me going!

this story is basically an extended version of Lily's journal and thoughts. Her full name is Lilea (Lil-ee-ya) Kensley Evans. But she goes by Lily. So, don't get thrown off or mad. Otherwise, enjoy and if you have questions - ask.

This is an AU, so not everything is according to the book.

Abarraine. 27 December.2006.

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**Hard to be Faithful: More Than You Thought**

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Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

6th year – Arithmetic theory

8:47 in the mornin'

I turned in my seat to glare back at her. Who does she think she is? Right, bad question, obviously she knows how high and mighty she is. The daughter of a famous auror, the quintessence of female perfection, seduction master Adare Merriner. Psh. Whatever. It's a shame that I don't live under the constraining walls of conformity and fear her renowned honor and beauty.

I can feel my insides just burning as I glare back at her. Her baby doll blue eyes are sharp with hatred and is that?—is it? A hint of jealousy? It's what radiates through her gaze, her nose is lifted higher than usual, and her perfectly trimmed eyebrows are so scrunched, they're emitting a hazard to her wrinkle free forehead. I'm sensing definite jealousy. I've never been a pro at actually speaking, but my mother said I have an undeniable knack for reading people. I sense people sometimes more than I hear them.

So, this must mean... oh my word! This mean there's a reason for all her jibbing these past few weeks? She's jealous of me? …_Me_? Lilea Kensley Evans?

The short little red head, hardly reaching five foot two. Head so curly it's rivaling Shirley Temple, except for the length, mind you. I can proudly say that my hair is definitely the longest hair in all of sixth year. This has come about because every time mum came towards me with those satanic scissors this past summer, I got the chills and had to flee the vicinity; usually the neighborhood to ensure my precious hair's safety. It was strenous. Who knew when mum'd suddenly be behind me!

And how about my superbly awesome seeker abilities; I'm founder of the 'Spanish Forté' a ridiculously insane backwards dive feint with a piercing 540˚ to throw off the opponent. _Mental_.

Oh. Well, I suppose Adare may just have a bit of trouble being jealous of me on the pitch, I mean she really isn't the athletic type. Straight up though, have you heard of a girl who spends an entire day in her dorm nursing her broken _nail_ as _ever_ being athletic? Even stepping outside for Care of Magical Creatures is an intense workout... for her hair. Heaven forbid it move a fraction of an inch. Dear me, the sky might come crashing down!

I'm sick of trying to figure out Ms. Superb. How in Godric's name can she be jealous of me, it's flat out unreasonable.

James keeps poking me; I'm about ready to chew off his head. But then I'd actually have to _speak_ and that really wouldn't be the smartest move in Hornbuckle's class. His lectures are strictly monologues. There's never supposed to be any interacting. Not even a simple question and answer dialogue between dedicated teacher and eager student.

Seems James loves the game "Poker", really, how immature can one be? Poker – Poke her. We've been betting and playing quite a bit lately, long nights, I think the sleep deprivation has finally gotten to my poor mate. He's still at his little game.

"James. Would you quit?" I mutter out the side of my mouth. He just snickers silently beside me. I know he's snickering too, because all I see are his soddingly broad shoulders twitching in a suppression of said laughter. Between Princess Adare's atrocious glare and one very strong, pointy finger that keeps sticking me between the ribs, I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic. Or possibly it's suppressed annoyance. Hatred. Aggression? Stress? Yes, stress.

"JAMES ISAAC! You take that heinous hand and put it on the damn desk before I put it there, mangled!"

Whoops. I need to remember that outbursts should be muttered. Never shouted. Especially in class. Most definitely need to mentally note: _never_ in Hornbuckle's class.

And James is back to his hitching laughter… this time, he's not suppressing it. No one is. Blast.

"Lily Evans. Get Out." Hornbuckle's crooked finger jabbed towards the door. My eyes grew, I couldn't be kicked out. This doesn't happen to me! I… I'm not a perfect student, but I'm definitely _not_ a troublemaker! Kick idiotic Potter out!

"But… professor, I—" His beady eyes narrowed and he bared his yellow teeth, not too unlike a rabid canine. Dipping my head, I resigned myself to packing up my notes. I glanced at James and found him biting his lip, his eyes pleading forgiveness.

I just sighed in annoyance and slammed my chair toward the desk, causing Amelia Bones and Eloise Cole to jump slightly. They each send me a "Sorry, Lil" smile as I walked, head high, out the door.

"Miss Evans, you may return as soon as you give this to Professor McGonagall." I stopped just in the arch of the door and turned, again, my green eyes widening as he handed me a small parchment of paper, of which held his flourished crest. I grabbed it and continued my march.

Damn, now I was in trouble. I longed to know what that parchment held. Most likely expressing to McGonagall how inappropriate, and juvenile, not to mention disrespectful I am. She'll be thrilled by this new development.

And then it hit me. Like a cartoon anvil. Why does she have to receive the parchment at all? Hornbuckle will most likely forget this whole escapade within the hour… I could just take a leisurely walk around the castle, then traverse back to class, disposing of said parchment in a rubbish bin in some random hall.

So what if I am just a tab bit of a troublemaker. No one got hurt.

Just an average day in the life of Lilea Evans? Possibly, I claim influence by James I. Potter. He's at fault. Always.

I strode back into Hornbuckle's class not twenty minutes later. Vengeance on my mind. I tried to hide my smirk as I met Hornbuckle's glimmering eyes. Such a dense fool. I believe everyone can be an actor if they really put their mind to it. Hornbuckle will never know that I swindled my way out of detention. Ten points to me? Naa, twenty. I took my seat next to a quiet James and with a continuing smirk, grabbed his notes. I can hear him huff beside me, but I just keep my eyes down and gather my pink pen to continue taking my own notes. I can feel James' glare. One word for you Jay-- retribution. Sweet, simple retribution.

He's oddly quiet…. I test my boundaries and glance over at the kid, my best friend. His head's resting on his arms; that little bugger went to sleep on me! Good God, can I not win even one little battle!

This lesson is lost on me. Between Adare's hateful glare and James getting me kicked out-- and sleeping while I sit here in agony… I've not learned one single thing. At least I have his notes--

Ow! Someone just chucked a paper wad at my head. I have to roll my eyes now. Am I really this deserving? To be rewarded with such praise and humiliation? Perhaps I should just stand up so I become a bigger target?

Or not.

It was Caradoc Dearborn, trying to annihilate me _again_ with some type of school affiliated item. Just yesterday it was the remnants of a used quill. That spiffing black ink was fun to get out of my ponytail.…

He just won't leave me alone. Everyday it seems, a new way to annoy me or in his words "take in every detail of your precious face". Precious, please. This pale, be-freckled thing? I often worry about these wizards' sanity. Again, between Adare, James, and now Caradoc I have to wonder if my life wouldn't have been easier in some Muggle secondary school.

Naa. I'd take activity over passivity any day.

James seems to find hilarity in it though, it referring to Caradoc's flinging of miscellaneous items at my poor, soon to be bruised body. James doesn't miss a beat, even when he's sawing z's. Now he won't stuff it, the bloody bugger. It wasn't even_ that _funny! He's on the verge of collapsing out of his chair he's laughing so hard. All I can do is stare open-mouthed at him. That boy, always finding my embarrassment humorous.

Can I blame him? Not very likely. Me and James, yeah, we're chums. We're chummy chums. Chummiest of Chums. Done now. That's why he gets me in trouble and I steal his notes and why he shoves me down stairs and I remove all his precious hair.

Oh, word. An idea just flickered into my enormously small mind. Perhaps that is why Adare is frothing at the mouth, she's jealous of my chumminess with ol' Jamesie boy!

And Caradoc? Well, that boy's just dreaming for something that will forever remain a fantasy… even in the Wizarding world… where anything can happen.

Back to the pressing matter, the one regarding my best friend and his love life. Or rather the preservation of his safety as it seems Adare, the rich psychopath, has targeted him as her next "the one".

Honestly, Adare has no luck in snagging James for herself. That boy, thankfully, has better standards, not the best standards mind you, but better. It may seem clichéd, but I know James has matured lately. It's not drastic, but it's definitely there. We still have our mattress races down the staircases, our apple juice chugging contests, and our random spouts where we hex one another into embarrassment when we're a bit angered. Who could mature out of that?

No, James has matured lately; I believe its pressure from his parents. Last year, however, James 'got around' with the girls. Not _that_ way, you perverts, never went past first base. I hope. You know, snog 'em and ditch 'em. He said they all turned out to be clingy. Probably the truth since they were all ditzes… nothing against ditzes except that they're brainless…. I know these intricacies in James' life 'cuz we talk. Like I said, James and I are chummy chums. I think his 'snog 'em and ditch 'em' was a rebellion thing against his parents.

You see, James and his parents have a very strained relationship. They're old fashioned Wizarding folk. I can only relate them to you as being like a Duke and Duchess of some territory. That's how much power they hold and how insanely rich they are – they're extremely close to the Minister of Magic, both politically and socially. So, therefore, as I'm told, makes his lineage exponentially important.

And his relationship with his parents is strained; it's a struggle each Christmas for me to convince him to go home and be with his parents during that special season. I won't say he hates Meira and David Potter, but he's a huge grudge against them. Why?

James has an arranged marriage with my friend Amelia Bones.

You heard me right.

Take a breather; it's a hard one to swallow all at once, I'll say. I fell down the stairs when Amelia told me. _Literally._

It was during the summer, July 19th 3 o'clock in the afternoon to be exact. What? I'm not psychotic with dates and times, it just so happened to be a very shocking day. You tend to remember those things. Plus, I spent the rest of the day nursing my poor, broken ankle until Amelia's parents finally took me to St. Mongos.

We were going down the stairs at Amelia's house. James and Remus were waiting by the front door with their studly brooms so we could play some quidditch, Amelia's a purebood so it's second nature for her to fly, but she's only ever done it _three _times. That particular day would not be her fourth, even if I hadn't broken my ankle, she still would have prefered to sun bathe and be a cheerleader. She's the next poster child for skin cancer, I swear.

Amelia's just not your out-going, competitive, give-your-whole-body-up-for-the-game kind of person. Amelia is your average girl-- well, average in the sense that she's from an upper class pureblood Wizarding family. She has worn skirts and dresses all her life, why ever would she conform to the ways of the men and _not_ show off her model-sculpted legs? Oh, Amelia. Such a sweetheart.

I may make out Amelia to be that high, nancy girl we all hate, but not everyone can be athletic like me! Amelia's a better mediator between me and Sirius, she's a better artist, draws fantastic portraits, and Amelia, bless her heart, you just _can't_ get angry at her. It's the eyes, they pull you in and melt your heart. That's how she always ends up with the last raspberry tart. Blast her!

I did it again! I made Amelia be some spineless chick. I'll try again. Amelia's dedicated to everything she does, everyone she meets. She'd kill for her friends and family and there have been times when she's hexed the nuts off of Lucius and Rudolphus for me. A slow temper to rise at times, but deadly protective of what she cares about. I know that's why I love her.

Back to her betrothal on that fateful July afternoon. I was ragging on her again, as I always do. "Amelia, what's the sodding deal with not playing quidditch? What do you suddenly have against James that I can't go and _talk _to him? Hmm?" The poor dear, she finally snapped and spilled after my... three hour interrogation of whining. When I say whining, I mean... not that bad kind of whining, yeah? I'm a good person! Cheery, random, nowhere near eccentric, hyper, erm... and klutzy. Who wouldn't love a little wired person like me? And little, yes, little.

"Lils, I don't want to _talk_ to James Potter nor _see_ James Potter ever again in my entire life because my bleeding parents are forcing me _marry _the pompous arse! Don't you—"

I fell down the stairs.

Head over heels, I fell.

Must have been quite the spectacle. Petite little Lily, grandly tumbling down the front grand staircase. Red hair flying followed by a high ear piecing yell.

Turns out to be the best thing I ever did. James and Remus came to my rescue, a little too late to remove the damage done, and Amelia, too preoccupied with my safety didn't even remember she had vowed to never speak to James again.

The day ended well enough, my leg in a temporary cast and Amelia and James friends again.

::

Take that Adare, take it all and stuff it! You can glare at me because I have James at my elbow, but that's the farthest extent you will get, my friend, er… enemy?

And Caradoc, that boy needs to learn how to lure in a women, erm, well, how about a girl. I'm not sure I'd consider myself a women just yet. Maybe when I get married, eat three-dozen fish nuggets or wear a ball gown.

Thank God, the bell finally rang. Another Arithmetic lesson done and forgotten, literally. I didn't pay attention to a smack of it. In one ear and out the other. That'll be great when I have to do all these blasted math problems later.

"James. You're my study buddy." I ordered.

"In your dreams Lil. You know it's a waste of time."

"How about I'm your tic-tac-toe buddy, and we throw some math into the schematics?"

"I'm going to lunch Lily."

"Hoser."

"Love you too." James is such a good friend.

Ew, googly eyes from Caradoc, fleeing now!

Yours,

Lilea Kensley Evans of Castlegrace, Ireland

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AN: so here's the reworked 1st chapter. It's still not up to the quality of my latest chapters… which I'm head over heels in LOVE with. But hopefully it's a bit better. This chapter's just a lame building block. I urge you to PLEASE keep reading!!!

Thank you.

Abarraine


	2. Definition of Libel

disclaimer: I own nothing but my own random thoughts.

author's note: I love writing, came up with this when I was bored, bare with me, reviews keep me going, literally! I won't write if there are no reviews.

this story is basically an extended version of Lily's journal and thoughts. Her full name is Lilea (Lil-ee-ya) Kensley Evans. But she goes by Lily. So, don't get thrown off or mad. Otherwise, enjoy and if you have questions - ask. This is an AU.

I have also deepened Sirius' character, changed it to form a more real life feeling with all the crap he's been put through. Not to worry though, the story evolves as do the characters. No flames please.

Abarraine.4 June.2005.

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**Hard to be Faithful: Definition of Libel **

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The only interesting thing that has taken place today happened at lunch when I tripped over Sirius' foot and broke the glass of water I was holding. Besides being painful, it was indefinitely embarrassing.

I swear Sirius leaves his bloody feet out in the open for me to trip on! He's evil, through and through! Well, maybe he has a little decency buried deep, deep, _deep _inside his heart. Yeah, you know that red mass of vessels that goes _bom bom_ and keeps you alive.

What is up with that git? He's got a perpetual stick up his arse. I glanced at him in Arithmancy just a minute ago and he's got this 'I'm rotting my mind sitting here with brown-nosers and geeky-boogie-eating losers' look on his face. He's draped over his seat, arms crossed. Tough boy. Such potential if he didn't have an attitude that rivals that of Antarctica.

Guess the whole 'tall, dark, and handsome' (not to mention mysterious) look definitely suits the chap well.

He's a pureblood — whoop-de-doo — and he's a dark pureblood, _reformed_. He claims to be against Voldemort— yes, I can proudly say his name. I'm not some spineless dolt who can't utter the name of a serial killer. It's not likely he's about to pop out of the wall and chop my body to bits in the Gryffindor common room. Please, people, be rational.

I'm pretty sure that one day, when I'm an auror, I'll take that sodding jack down. He won't know what hit him. Watch me, at five foot two, I'll whip out my super sonic skills and reflexes and annihilate the creep. I'll be worshipped by all purebloods, they'll name a day after me, I'll have my own parade... okay, so I can dream, right?

Voldemort and his 'anti-muggle everything' crap is really getting on my nerves. And Sirius, the sodding git, is damn well set on proving that he isn't aligned with such evilness. But I personally don't see it. He's mean to _me_. All the time. Muttering about how I just don't belong. Preserve the muggle race, yes, but why should we have to mix?

The berk and I don't get on well. He's strong, forceful, big headed, and mind you, scary as hell! When we got in a row the other night, I could have sworn he was a millisecond away from slapping me to South Africa if Remus hadn't intervened.

Not getting on well is an understatement. We're both stubborn kids who love the feeling of bettering someone else. I suppose I can get on people's nerves though, always asking questions and humming, or in the ever occurring case, bumping into people and spilling ink. I'll never understand why the wizarding community hasn't adopted the pencil or pen yet. Why live in the middle ages when there's a definite advancement just around the corner? I'll stick with my pink pencil, thank you.

Sirius, he's the poise, cold-hearted, handsome one. Eloquent, breathtakingly beautiful and extremely brilliant. He could easily get top grades if he applied himself.

I come off as a punky little red head with too much energy for her small body. Always that carefree smile that fools people into thinking I have the perfect life. Far from it my friends, but I can't let it get me down all the time. Depression is for losers.

I bet if you compare Mr. Black's and my life, we'd be pretty even in our sufferings. I just don't understand his hostility and bitterness. He's got superb friends, a girl hanging off his arm every other week —only purebloods, mind you — and a future if he just tried himself at school. Hell, he's even got a quidditch career lined up after Hogwarts if he wants one. Best darn beater I've ever seen, and James took me to the Quidditch cup a year back and Sirius definitely beats them all. Honestly.

All right, delving into Sirius' impenetrable character has proved to do nothing but aggravate me. More on the dolt when I feel I have enough pages between his abominable name and the next time I must use it. Honestly, someone can only take glares and witty libel for so long.

Darn my conscience, now I feel like a hypocrite. Libeling him in my book.

You see, I feel I need to write out my contempt for Sirius Black so that maybe I can reread it and make sense of it all. I think our friendship (if that's what you wish to call it) is like trying to fit a square in a circular hole. It's just won't work and it's not meant to happen. You get easily annoyed at the circular hole over the littlest of things. Hey, that's a fine acronym, eh? Fits us perfectly.

Hopefully, over time, we'll be better amigos, I'll wear down his sharp edges.

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Amelia's a funny girl, she's the primmest girl I know, except in one little area... she has this thing with _food_. She's a die hard eater. She can consume so much food, I'm surprised she doesn't weigh more than the giant squid. I think I'm getting disgusted at the moment. Amelia's sitting across from me, chowing down on her second helping of lasagna and chicken wings. I've been staring at her for at least three minutes, and in that entire time, she's not spoken one word to me.

Heavens! She dragged me in from laying out in the sun finishing my arithmancy to come and watch her eat. Okay, put yourself into this scene: Amelia Bedelia is in her uniform, everything tidy, (unlike me, I clash horribly with her. Looking down right now, my tie is undone, threatening to slip off, my white shirtsleeves are splattered with purple ink, don't even want to look at my hands. I'm a bit messy with the ink. Eh, didn't get around to putting on socks this morning, just slipped on my red flip-flops that I decorated with beads this past summer. Well, look at that! My toe nail polish is still intact, how skum-diddly-umptiously awesome!) soft brown hair pulled into a half pony tail. Mascara painted eye lashes covering most of her soft blue eyes which are undoubtedly fixed on her fork-full of lasagna. And there she shovels in another huge bite, the size of my fist! golly oh mighty. From prim and proper to trailer-trash-haven't-eaten-in-a-week-girl. The transformation is quite interesting. But then, I'm easily amused. Going back to my cheeseburger now. Thought you'd enjoy my interlude of description.

Definite shadow over my chocolate pudding. Definite sighing of the bench I'm sitting on. Definite air movement coming from my left. Someone just sat down next to me and is hovering over my notebook, I have to cover my writings with my arm. Quite a hard endeavor.

"Hey _Lilzie,_ whatcha writin'?" Oh no you don't James Potter, keep your greedy little eyes off my notebook!

"Nothing..." I tried to reply all sweet and innocent.

"But that's what you said last time, and I happen to know that 'nothing' doesn't involve a pen." Bugger, that kid just won't leave it alone! Everyone knows by now that my journal is private, with a capital P. It's a sensitive topic. Never have I shown anyone my writings, and it's staying that way.

But hey, just to liven up the mood, I'll give him brownie points for his muggle-paraphernalia-remember-ization skills. I'm gonna try not answering him and see what happens.

I'm about to elbow him in the face, he's leering that close!

"James Potter, move your arse away from me."

"Oh come on Lily, It's not that big of a deal. Come on... It's about me isn't it? How hot and sexy I am. How you are trying your hardest to repress the urge to grab me— ahhh OW! Blimey Lil, where'd you dock up that muscle?"

I just can't suppress a cheeky smile right now. I'm a fan of Charley horses, I really am. They come in handy all the time.

"Years of being a tomboy—"

"Steroids, right Evans?" That little berk. This isn't his conversation! I really wish glares could kill...

"Only for you Black, gotta keep that image alive, don't we now?" Weak, I know, but sometimes it takes my brain a bit for those really witty come backs to, well, come. I'll be sitting in class, then suddenly _poof _I have a come back that would make your mumma cry.

"Sirius, Lily, please, not now. Just one dinner without constant bickering?" Amelia, as I said, the mediator.

"At least my image isn't some wanna-be-_hag_-of-a-muggle covered in mud—" I slammed my palms on the table, raising myself to meet his eyes. That was below the belt. Sneaky little jerk.

"Sirius you bast—"

"Well, this sounds like a wonderful beginning of an argument." I barely heard James mutter, my focus was intensly set on ripping out Sirius' cold blue eyes.

"Please! Lily! Sirius, _please!_ I realize you have a huge 'friends' issue, but can't you at least try to keep up a close-to-amiable relationship?" I turned to glare at Amelia and James. Why weren't they upset that Sirius just insinuated that I was a mudblood! Instead, they just looked torn, of course, I may be a friend but some things are thicker than water — like blood.

"A close-to-amiable relationship," Sirius repeated, raising an eyebrow. "How can you maintain a close-to-amiable relationship with the pebble in your shoe?"

There was a stunned silence as I digested his words, a numbness taking over my face.

"The pebble in your shoe," I echoed blankly, meeting his eyes. "That's all I am to you? The pebble in your shoe."

"Would you rather be the thorn in my side?" His nonchalant stabs are seriously pissing me off. As are my so-called friends, sitting on the sidelines. Gah! just rag on the muggleborn, she can handle it, like always. Not anymore.

"Look, let's settle this once and for all, eh Black?" There was complete silence, I took it Sirius and I were yelling for the whole Great Hall to hear, but I did't care. As long as he gets what's coming to him, I could care less of what the whole school thought of me — what am I again? oh, the 'wanna-be-hag-of-a-muggle covered in mud'.

I can see his jaw tighten. Amelia's hand twisting in her hair, eyes uneasy. James trying his best to calm me with his sodding hand on my hand.

"You think I should respect you, kneel down at your presence, subject myself to your discrimination just so you have time to revel in your superiority because you're _pureblood_? I don't care what kind of blood you have! Just because you have a solid family lineage of wizards and witches does not allow you to think that you're better. Let me tell you something, Black, you had to have your magic handed down to you on a bloody sliver platter, I, on the other hand, _made it all by myself._"

During my tirade, I couldn't help but stare into his eyes; searching for some kind of feeling in his human shell. There wasn't the normal flicker of apathy, but rather a searing hint of guilt. Finally, some bleeding guilt.

Can you see now why I slandered him before? How he always seems to better me with his cold comments? He and I do not get on well, lightly put.

But I'm willing to try. After that flicker of guilt, maybe I can coax some soul out of his ice incased heart.

Bets on how long it takes?

Lilea Kensely

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Thank you SO much to those that reviewed the first time. I had to repost and fix a few things.

That was awesome fun to write. Hope the revision made it better! Oh good, no more tornado warning, the all clear is going off. ;)

Just so you know, I LOVE names. I hate the unoriginal Lily Marie Evans, I felt I needed to spice it up, took me awhile to create Lilea and I'm proud of it. :)

Please review!

now.


	3. Incessant Flirting

disclaimer: I own nothing but my own random thoughts.

author's note: I **love** writing, came up with this when I was bored, bare with me, _reviews keep me writing_!

Lily's full name is Lilea (Lil-ee-ya) Kensley Evans. But she goes by Lily. So, don't get thrown off or mad. Otherwise, enjoy and if you have questions - ask. _This is an AU because it does not follow Book 5._

Abarraine. 3 December. 2005. _(reworked: 9/10 January 2007)_

Update: James Potter is bethrothed to Amelia Bones. Sirius is dark, mysterious, handsome and completely loyal to the Marauders, but dislikes Lily. Lily's angry at her friends for being a bit prejudice against those not Pureblood, this is a bone she keeps picking with them.

I want to thank my gracious reviewers! you mean the world to me! check6, blueholly, riddlemethisone, rohosluvsrolos, cosmopolitan, Eve1980, themaniac of no man's land, sapphirenights. you were the only ones to review out of 413 ppl.

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**Hard to be Faithful: Incessant Flirting**

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_Arithmancy_

I'm sitting here, subconsciously realizing how incredibly _close _his lean body is to mine. When he glances out the window, I can feel his warm breath on my neck. His fidgets cause him to shift his body, closer, closer — _closer _to mine. My peripheral vision is blocked by his immense presence of thick hair. Gosh darn it all. He's touching my arm. _Why _must I be left handed? My right arm is laying useless on the table and his left is discreetly touching it. That sodding berk, is he _trying_ to make me fail my quiz?

Ten minutes left of class and fourteen questions to go, and all I can feel is his sodding arm.

Alright Lily, deep breath, _focus._ Envision the answers. Come on now. He's not gonna move his arm so deal with it. You're not some mushy-gushy girly sap. You were raised by your father, surrounded by neighborhood boys. You know how to pack a punch— so, again, deep breath. Take that estrogen out of your body and throw it in his face, focus for just eight more minutes!

Six minutes left, nine questions.

Is that his leg? By Jove, he's overly fidgety or he's _coming on_ to me; in the middle of our Arithmancy quiz— which I'm going to fail because of his distracting qualities.

Is it healthy for my heart to be racing this fast? If it picks up its pace anymore, I swear it's gonna come soaring out of my chest. Oh bloody hell, what if I'm having a heart attack? Yeah, that's likely: "**Girl dies of heart complications during her weekly Arithmancy quiz**". Oh sod it. Focus Lily. It's not that hard!

Four minutes... eight questions.

Alright, buckling down. I've resigned myself that he's not gonna move and that I somewhat enjoy his interaction. Now I have two questions left...

one...

and done! phew. Now I just have to get up and hand in the quiz — and leave his comfort.

* * *

I believe I'm on the brink of insanity. You see, I am the luckiest sodding girl _alive_. I got to sit right next to Mason Dobenecker today in Arithmancy, as you must already know. However, today, after my heart-pounding class Mason came up to me to ask if I wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him, which is two weeks away. 

Can you say elation? I was seriously jumping off the wall but I had to keep my _refined_ cool around my biggest crush. Lily and Mason, we'd be the perfect couple, eh? Me with my curly red hair, pale skin, short athletic stature from years of football, running, and recently— quidditch and Mason with his soft blond hair, creamy light blue eyes and not to mention his status as Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain.

So this Mason chap, you could probably compare him to my best mate James Potter in several elusive ways. One, Mason's tall, rich, and charming. Two, his family is long standing as Pureblood (this may not work in my favor). Three, Mason's a quidditch captain and fantabulous beater— although I must keep my alliance up with James and say that James is just a _bit _better. Now you know the casual facts on Mason. Here's the intricate stuff: Mason is _so_ sweet, lately he's been calling me beautiful every time he sees me. I know he's just flirting, but hey, at least my excessive beauty (psh) has attracted his attention.

Last night, I was on my usual Thursday night prefect patrol when I ran into Mason coming down from the owlry and we talked a bit before I left him at the Ravenclaw common room, but not before he said "Good night, Beautiful". I think I turned to mush right there. Good thing it was dark.

Then Mason gently touches me with his arm today during Arithmancy and the whole "go to Hogsmeade with me Lily?" after class has definitely given me some strength that we might actually become the Lily and Mason: perfect couple. I need to talk to Amelia! I mean, it's not every day that your dream comes true, now is it?

It truly is a gorgeous day! Here comes Amelia now, fantastic, I can talk her ear off and then she can give me all her girly-girl advice on 'how to catch' the guy. Wonderful, superb... I'm turning into that mushy-gushy girl aren't I? Sod it all.

* * *

"You're hopeless sometimes." Amelia bit into her turkey sandwich as I ranted on about my infatuation and how I need to borrow her clothes for the 'date'. She needs to get used to this new side of me. I have officially found out that guys inhabit the earth and some are _fiiine._

"Oh, gee thanks. I pick real winners as friends."

"That you do, Chili. Pass me the potatoes?" Ordering me around now, is he? Berk. Yeah, James and I are pals, so I can treat him like crap. We share this love/hate friendship thing. We spend our time together either dissing each other or flirting (which I must say is too much fun to pass up even when Amelia's around, I mean, she knows our relationship is perfectly platonic, so why worry?). This so happens to be a time where I ignore him into oblivion until he gets über mad, and that, my friends, is where I get to laugh evilly and eat all the potatoes myself. Cheers.

"So, Amelia did you hear about Anthony Tolderhaust?" I slopped a large amount of potatoes on my fresh plate.

"No, nothing I can remember." Amelia replied, squirting ketchup on her corn.

"Ew, 'Meil. I can't marry someone who takes ketchup from it's normal form and terrorizes it." Amelia shot James a glare and squeezed harder on her ketchup bottle exploding its contents onto not only her corn, but also Peter's. Thus sending Peter into a cranky fit.

"Seriously Amelia, for once in your egotistic life could you do just _one_ thing that doesn't degrate—"

"Peter, shut up." I intervened. His mouth normally didn't run like that. I earned a small glare from Peter. Nice to know he still hates me — I suppose that's mutual. The record still stands: two marauders hating Lilea Evans and two liking.

"Anyways!" Remus sighed, behind his newspaper, fearing an all our row would happen. With me, anything's possible with a few misplaced words. What can I say? I have a strong sense of opinion.

"What about Anthony?" Amelia asked, picking up where Remus left off.

"Some dolt bet him fifty galleons to date Winnefreda McCready for longer than two weeks—"

"Winnie?" Amelia sputtered and shivered at the thought.

Poor Winnefreda, poor eccentric Winnie. Her hair's always in a bun, her skirt is always reaching her ankles—kankles— excuse me, her cheeks match that of a porcelain doll; her blush in an exact bright pink circle. And then, poor Winnefreda, turtle shell glasses that magnify her dull gray eyes to extreme measures. Taking the cake, Winnie's just a wee bit out there, if you know what I mean.

"Gag me with a rubber spork." I said agreeing. "But then, how cruel is that?" I asked exasperated. "Going out with a person... possibly making their day, I mean, how much attention from the opposite sex do you—"

"_Opposite _sex intrigues her now?" I punched James.

"Achem, how much attention to you really think she gets? And then finding out he only dated her for a bet. The whole purpose was to make her the laughing stock of Hogwarts. It's just barbaric and immature." I finished.

"Phew, glad I don't look like her."

"Amelia!" I groaned.

"What? She's horrendous."

"And how about her promoting the Pureblood race, I say we just," and Sirius made a motion across his neck indicating 'kill'.

"What are you people on? She's a person. Be humane for just a moment, yeah?" I sighed, not quite understanding their line of thought. Unconsciously I searched the Great Hall for Winnefreda, but she was no where to be found. Probably too embarrassed, I surmised.

"You're right, she has feelings inside that awful ruffly-sort dress." James said, seemingly actually trying to feel bad.

"Hey James, I'll give you two-hundred to take Winnie to Hogsmeade next saturday." Sirius snickered.

"So... no one really feels bad for her?" I inquired, kind of put out by their lack of respect. I understand my chums are rich and all, they could have anything in the world if they wanted it, but I didn't realize they were _this_ spoiled.

"Lily, she sets herself up for disaster. You know it, so stop playing Miss Universe and join us down here on planet earth." Amelia said looking at me exasperatedly. Amelia doesn't have a short temper... but today I think it may just be a bit strained. Why? I don't have any idea.

"Just thought a little humanity would cheer her up." I said, grabbing an apple and my bag. Enough of these spoiled dolts. I have better things to do. Such as... understand the fourteen constraints of the Niftus charm.

* * *

Somewhere between lunch and dinner, my appetite hit the roof. I was having hallucinations of dancing turkey legs and fried ice cream desserts. Sadly, my apple at lunch did not hold my soaring appetite. Perhaps next time, I shouldn't get angry and depart without at least a turkey sandwich squarely in my greedy hands. 

Amelia took pity on me, however, and gave me her spare sugar quill during History of Magic. I think it was just too get me to shut up, I tend to whine a bit too much nowadays. I need my voice to be heard is all!

Basically, this day was a fiasco. A fiasco for all those poor little girls who will only _dream _about Mason Dobenecker! Poor sods, don't I just feel so giddy with gloating! The other fiasco was another stupid rift between me and my pureblooded goofs. It's not really a rift, 'cuz just a moment ago, me and James were in a heavy arm wrestle, which wouldn't be a lie to say I didn't win. Was that tricky? It was meant to be.

Cheers my chums. Pray life goes smoother... and for poor Winnefreda. Such a sob story, she takes my cake today.

Always,

Lilea K. Evans

Master of Arms.

* * *

I'll make you all a snowman if you review. 

and I won't put up the new chapter until I get _at least_ 10 reviews. It's only fair... considering only 4 of readers have reviewed so far.

Cheers. Abarraine


	4. Rain Painted

disclaimer: I own the story line of this piece and Mason Dobenecker. Es todo.

In _my_ story, Lily's full name is Lilea (Lil-ee-ya) Kensley Evans. But she goes by Lily. So, don't get thrown off or mad. Otherwise, enjoy and if you have questions - ask. This is an AU.

Update: Lily's infatuation with Mason Dobenecker has paid off... now the results.

Abarraine. 15 January. (orig. 20 March).

* * *

It has been a horrible day, that's for sure. I don't need a fortune teller to verify it for me, hell, I don't even have to think over the events, it's _that _easy to see. No magnifying glasses needed. If today was a thesis paper, the title would boldly glare: **Record Breaking Worst Day in the History of the World, Ever**. I'm sure if I had spilled the beans of my disastrous dilemma, the newsboys standing on dirty corners would be grinning ear to ear over the newly acquired gossip. It was juicy. It was tragic. It was _humiliating._

And as usual I was the butt of the joke. Laughingstock. The simpleton, jestee, derision, mockery... need any more synonyms? 'Cos I'm sure I can walk into Durmish and Bang's and find a rare-sort of thesaurus for this specific purpose.

I'm Lilea K. Evans. Resident Muggleborn. Girl with that unnatural curly_ red_ hair. Bloody Brilliant. Hardly any social skills. Irish to the core... and odd. Stereotypes have never been my friend. And for the rest of my life, I believe we'll always butt heads.

I'm Lily Evans. Most everyone know me from one situation or another. I have a habit of skirting topics I don't like to talk about. I also have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth; a wholly disgusting proverb-or-sorts. I must also condone, I have an oddly innate sense of overestimating as I walk, move, dance, and even stand. The result, therefore, is my close relationship, as in great amity, with the wonderful ground. Be it my chum Cobblestone, or Sir Greenly Grass, or ... my favorite amigo whom I met up with again today: Miser, not to be confused with mister, Mud.

Humiliating sums up my feelings in a rather low expressive sense. However, catastrophic seems to overdo it some. It may make me come across as a bit self-imposed, egotistical, pompous? Yes.

On with the story? all right, I seem to have bated you enough, here it is- I'll start at the beginning.

* * *

Today is a dreary March day. The sun is teasing me occasionally by winking coyly behind the gray, choppy clouds. They're cumulus nimbus by the way. They no longer have to threaten the prospect of rain because they broke their vows and let the ... heavenly? no, perturbing rain flow this morning before breakfast. I didn't even get to wake up with Mr. Sunshine. Dreadful it was.

I'm being so melodramatic because today just so happens to be a Hogsmeade day. The most anticipated Hogsmeade day of my life, and well, for others too. Everyone marks their calendars with big hearts or stars or confetti-look-a-likes on this magnificent day. It's the 15th, by the way.

I know. I should have seen it coming, being the Ides of March.

I was blinded by my sheer excitement of my anticipated date with Mason Dobenecker.

I was blinded by my giddiness.

By Amelia's avid throwing of cute mini-skirts and low-cut halters in my face. (I gagged upon seeing the final version on my lithe body. Would any poor soul want to see me like this in public? No. Bloody. Way. I told Amelia so).

Finally. I didn't see the Ides of March upon us because my own calendar date of Saturday the 15th of March was doodled around so ferociously with scarlet hearts that the '15' was made practically illegible. Could I help it that the red of the hearts was a deep crimson hue? No. Or that I was in an unbashfully wonderful mood? Again, no.

My date in Hogsmeade is sure to be über fantastic while in the company of the delicious Mason Dobenecker. _Elation_. That's the name of my world at this precise moment in time.

I begged Amelia to do my hair all cute; essentially, just make me more girly. Take away my frizzies and turn my natural curls into something more formal and less hinting of my spontaneous character. She relented and I must say, _oo la la_. Hey, girls my age are supposed to have arrogant moments. It's expected, so get over it. Plus, this so happens to be my diary, hence my name on the inside cover. And if there's any time or place where I can express my thoughts in an unadulterated fashion, here it is.

I absolutely refused to wear Amelia's mini skirts and opted for my 'practically-second-skin' jeans. As a Muggleborn, I have my love of jeans, and this pair so happens to be my most favorite. I even have a glittery butterfly on the back pocket to cover a hole; I've had them since forever. Patch 'em up, and pull 'em on. That's my insight.

Enough of my rambles. I'm trying to add climax and yet nurse my poor ego by going about this slowly.

Cookies anyone? ...right. Enough time-squandering.

I met Mason at the Three Broomsticks. He was drop dead _gorgeous_. Can I divulge in any more synonyms to add to your mental picture? I believe my heart skipped a beat and Amelia had to shove me some so that my limbs would move again. Have you ever had it where you're in like a REM paralysis state and only your eyes, lungs and heart seem to be functioning? And even then... my heart threatened to come flying out of my ribcage.

There he was, in angelic glory. I swear there was a ethereal light shining on his blond curls. The harsh light of the tavern accentuated his sharp cheekbones and strong chin. I noticed he had a small spray of freckles across his cheeks and nose. He was the essence of hot and manly with this underside of cuddly cute. Could he be more perfect?

He smiled at me; that dazzling smile of his. I swear he could pose for a Colgate commercial. Gosh, he's adorable and I'm about to drown in my own mushy-gushyness. Is it hot in here?

"Hey Beauty. Never thought you'd make it." His deep voice seemed to reverberate throughout my skull. Yes. It _is_ hot in here.

I must say, I am ashamed. I giggled at his compliment of 'beauty'. Seriously! He's calling moi beautiful! I must have stepped into an alternate reality where '_everything goes wonderfully smashing for Lily Evans_'.

Smashing. That could be taken two ways, couldn't it? At the beginning I was content with the positive connotation of that word, but as time went on...

We spent the first half hour or so contemplating what exactly there is to do in Hogsmeade. We'd already checked "get delicious and frothy butterbeer from Rosmerta" off our list. But then, our conversation turned to those darned awkward silences.

"So, uh, Herbology was great the other day, eh?" I just stared at him as he questioned me, I tried to find the relevance between our date... and Herbology. I guess I should play along.

"Er, yeah. Those HornFengs were satanic. James' almost tore my hair out."

Slowly, I suppose Herbology wasn't that bad of a topic. We careened around topics like cheese, waterbugs, and finally to Quidditch. I was thrilled to divulge my love for quidditch with another sport lover. He's Ravenclaw's team captain and I'm seeker for Gryffindor. We spent atleast half an hour arguing over who has the best build team. Strategy and skill wise. Of course, we finally decided to let next month's game decide for us. Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw. A sure out victory for Gryffindor if I dare say so myself. Which I didn't say out loud on the pretense that this was a _date_, not an attempt to _lose_ the date.

After a while, our conversation slowed and on a random thought to keep the date going I thought we should order some lunch. It was nearing one and even though he'd sufficed himself with three plus butterbeers, I hadn't eaten or drank anything since breakfast.

I confess. I hate butterbeer. It's just so sub par to that of rootbeer. The Wizarding-kind is sorta stuck in this alternate world where they won't even touch anything remotely Muggle. Leaving me with drinks and food that were around in the early 1500s. Butterbeer is a fine example.

I sat there, chin resting on my palm. Thoroughly engrossed in stirring my untouched Butterbeer clockwise then suddenly counter to experiment with its spinning properties while Mason "the hunk" droned on about the irrelevant as we waited for our food.

I was bored.

I was bored to death.

But then, I'd look up at the idolization of male-god sitting in front of me and I was contented again.

Is that shallow?

So, he's not much for intellect, even though he's a Ravenclaw. But then, am I really all that courageous, being a Gryffindor and all? Stereotypes are bad. This would be a somewhat interesting topic to contemplate about later.

And so what if I'm using him as a visual pleasure rather than something brain-worthy and stimulating? I'm sixteen, he's gorgeous and he calls me beautiful.

Oh word, he is _so_ dull!

I don't believe I've said a word in the last hour. I'd roll my eyes, but I'm pretty sure he'd see that and well... stop calling me beautiful?

Finally a saving grace came, but not soon enough. I was incorporated into the converstation!

"Lily, would you like to meet again? Say, next Hogsmeade after the quidditch game?" He asked me out again. Dilemma!

Do I sit in boredom with God's wonder to the world, or do I join my psychotic friends and play tag throughout the town? Which is more stimulating?

"Sure, I'd love to, Mason." What the hell just came out of my mouth! Hormones. That's what I'll call it. Sheer curse-able hormones.

At least he's hot.

Now to the humiliating aspect of my life. It was raining, see written above. And it was unnaturally breezy. Immediately I was chilled to the bone. I remember cursing myself for not layering. At least I still had my striking red and crimson scarf that James' mum made me for Christmas. I absolutely love Meira Potter.

Mason and I said goodbye to each other in front of The Three Broomsticks. The rain was light, but there was a distinct rumbling in the distance and the mountains were covered in a haze that I knew was a torrential downpour.

I had to find James and Amelia quick before I was thoroughly drenched. Here's where all communication died between Lily's awkward body and frazzled mind. My feet were far too slow for my brain's concept of turn-and-don't-step-off-the-curb advice. Mason was still standing there as my left foot —without the slightest bit of elegance at all— slid off the curb and brought the rest of my five foot two body with it.

Careening out of control, I literally saw my so-called life flash before my eyes. I could see Mason's face, his eyes bugging out of his chiseled face. He must have a badly communicating mind as well, because he didn't move a bone to try and catch me. Sodding bugger.

I hit the cobblestone soundly. Mud splashed into my curly, rain drenched hair and into every crevice on my face. My jeans and coat were suddenly painted brown. However, at that moment, I couldn't have cared if I had landed in permanent ink rather than mud, for all my rational thought was focused on my oddly angled ankle.

And the excruciating pain. Holy, bleeding, sodding, excruciating pain.

I remember glaring at my ankle then falling onto my back, in the incriminating mud, and holding the bridge of my nose to suppress the acid-like tears from pouring down my face. The pouring rain camouflaged them well enough, I shouldn't have worried.

I don't know how long I was laying in the muddy puddle, trying my darndest to suppress my tears before Mason snapped to action and...

HE BLOODY ASKED ME IF I WAS ALRIGHT?

"Does it look like I'm alright you wanker?" I bit out. I tell ya, pain really brings out my temper. Although, I do feel bad for biting his head off because I'm the one who brought all this upon myself. But, come on, surely the guy has enough sense to help me bloody well stand up and move out of the pouring rain!

Er... I told him that, too. I'm not sure our date's still on for next Hogsmeade, but, can I really say that I care? The guys a total swot. He can barely think on his own.

He finally lifted me out of the mud, grimacing at the thought of his precious plum robes getting mud drenched. Sorry, chum. You should know that when with Lilea Evans, all things are possible. Be prepared at all times. James knows this. I believe he carries around Muggle band aids just for me. Isn't he a sweetheart?

Mason dearest was relieved of his duties when Caradoc Dearborn came running out of The Three Broomsticks.

"I'll take her Mason." Wonderful. I'm being shuffled about like some ruddy piece of meat. I think my repressed disgust for Caradoc came out when I fainted on him. Or maybe it was the pain?

Couldn't tell you. All I know is that the hospital wing is indeed my second home.

Enjoying the solitude of pristine and nauseating white,

The humiliated: Lilea Kensley Evans

P.S. Hopefully, you're getting used to my sarcasm. Till next time. G'bye.

* * *

a/n please review. the more you review, the easier it is to write. I feel more motivated.

... and really, what do you think?


	5. Hard to be Faithful

disclaimer: I own the story line and Mason Dobnecker, es todo.

update: still in Hogsmeade, folks!

a/n: I hope you all really really enjoy this, cuz I absolutely LOVE writing this story. feedback please!

Abarraine. 22 January.2007 (Septiembre 22.2006)

* * *

**Hard to be Faithful**

* * *

15th of March. Hogsmeade.

"Will this rain ever cease? Does it realize how _long _I spent on my hair this morning? This is bloody predictable." Amelia huffed, glaring hotly at the constant downpour that was the molester of her once impeccable locks. Here she was, stuck on an infamous "date" with her _fiancée_ James Potter and she was in _agony_. Well, emotional agony. Sure she loved James, but she couldn't help but visualize him in a purely friends category. Her emotions just didn't reach that far, they'd been hindered by years of forced familiarity. James and her had been mates since she was born, her parents and the Potters had made sure of it. James was born eight months ahead of her and all the while, the rumor is, that they lived in fear and peril until a worthy female was born. She should feel so honored.

She may have been worthy, but she wasn't right for James. He needs someone who's a bit more scatterbrained, to throw him off track a bit. See, James dear is someone who has so much responsibility he's taken it upon himself to make sure everything for _everyone_ goes right. He's the brother to the lonely girl, the best mate to all rambunctious boys, a mentor to the young, and bless his heart, a prank protégée. He's made too much of a burden on his back, trying to fix everyone's wounds and worries. He needs to relax. He plays it off that he doesn't care, that whatever you do is fine, but really, he's too responsible and grown up to be a seventeen-year-old boy. He needs that girl who can fly off the handle and dance in the rain, who loves to eat candy late at night even though it may spoil her sleep. Who can't help but laugh in the middle of Arithmancy, even when it's a life or death situation if you do. The girl who takes life carefree.

Sadly, Amelia was not a spazzy girl like that. She adored her hair dry and un-frizzed from the persistent rain. She liked to live her life in a sheltered, protected way. She had seen too much suffering; and couldn't shake the heavy weight off her heart. She's much too impressionable. She needed to spend half an hour fixing her make-up, having the exact shade of dress to fit her complexion. She prefered the boy who lends his arm when they go for a walk so she doesn't trip in her stilettos. She's a refined girl; raised to be pampered.

"_Jaaaaaaaames._ I refuse to leave until the rain stops." Amelia stated, still glaring out the rain-streaked window of Madam Puddifoot's cafe. James glanced from Amelia to the cobblestone street that could be seen through the window. He sighed quietly, willing himself to not roll his eyes, Amelia was being such a pain today.

Personally James loved the rain. He loved playing Quidditch when the wind was soft and the rain flowed down gently from the Heavens; a delicate, cooling shower. He loved the feel of raindrops slapping his face and running down the length of his arms. It was a calming, almost unnerving sensation to him. Where James hated swimming, he never minded the soaking downpour of summer's rain. Almost a paradox, but then, James considered his life the ultimate paradox, forever becoming more intricate and ridiculous.

"Amelia, it's just a bit of rain. Besides, I really don't care if your hair turns into a fro, you look the same to me." James, however insensitive it was, really could not care what Amelia looked like. Truth be told, he never really spent much time looking at her, rather looking past her, trying to envision someone else in which he would share his life.

Amelia's eyes narrowed as she turned away from the window to glare at James Potter. How could he be so disrespectful to her? Didn't he know that she was something great; even if neither of them wanted the fate they had been given.

She was beautiful, rich, elite, charming – what was she missing that didn't incite desire in him?

"Amelia, you know I didn't mean it that way. You look beautiful either way, love." James tried to fix his mistake. He felt like a jerk, putting her down like that. He hadn't meant for the words to be strung in such a demeaning phrase. He simply was too preoccupied to care. And really, it wasn't like she forced this relationship on him. He should be cursing her medieval father instead of her. Besides, she was beautiful-- if that's what you were looking for.

"Did you want lunch?" Amelia questioned, trying to ease the tense air that had settled around them. James was off in his own world again, staring out at the wet world. He was intent on keeping his eyes off of her, she noticed. As he was perpetually in his megalomania, Amelia took the time to trace his chiseled features with her eyes. She captured his dark, silky locks first. They looked to be slightly damp and curled a bit. They had had to sprint inside the café this morning due to Amelia's harsh need for safety from precipitation. James, however, had stopped to give Lily a hug as she passed with Mason Dobenecker– Lily seemed a bit unconfident, as was quite an unexercised department in her character and needed the moral support. This was his remark when Amelia asked why he would go and do _that _while on _their_ date.

Amelia's mind traveled back to the present as her gaze traveled to the base of his neck, which was dotted with gentle curls that she suddenly had a passion to caress; her fingers itched in her lap. His deep, powerful eyes were out of focus to her and she could barely see a fraction of his intense golden orbs as they stared away from her. His glasses became almost a symbolic wall that only allowed a few people to see inside. She tried to recall the last time she had felt him staring at her with his efficacious gaze.

It was as if it hurt to look at her, but she couldn't fathom why-- he never showed any favor in any other girl, had he? Had she been blind to his other advances? Or was he so closed to the female race after his forced betrothal that he didn't want anything to do with her or another girl.

Amelia stopped herself. Her eyes widening, her breath short. A sharp pain stabbed her in the chest as she replayed the scene from earlier. Lily's gentle smile towards James as he came to hug her. Was it possible that Lily was falling for James? James for Lily? Was it truly possible? Lily'd sworn an oath that she'd never break the vows of friendship, and this definitely interceded on those specified rules.

For a moment Amelia hated her best friend. Her mind flew over the scenes that James and Lily had shared, trying to analyze all the motions and words of both. She knew Lily was cute, pretty, spunky. She knew James was impressionable, so if it was anyone's fault, it was _Lily's_.

As if the essence of bi-polar was projected from words into a human form, Amelia was the description. She felt the hollowness that became from the unfairness forced into the situation. The regret of holding mutinous views about your best friend. You weren't supposed to doubt your friend. Trust was an ever-present mold into any relationship and hating your best friend; that was inconceivable. The girl who had been with you for ages, helping you primp, shoving handfuls of candy into your backpack for you to find while in a dead-as-hell boring class, dragging you to eat dinner when you felt fat, but haven't eaten all day... did she really have the evidence or permissible thought to doubt her friend?

So what was wrong with her chest? Why did it suddenly hurt to breathe when he had hugged Lily?

Damn it all if she was truly jealous.

Amelia had the right to be jealous, she was betrothed to bloody _James Potter._ The bloke of the century. She was Amelia Reneé Bones – the bird of the century. She was, due to her status, naturally allowed to get what she wanted. And granted, she didn't want James, but he was hers nonetheless. And he was to stay hers.

She sighed, almost hopelessly.

If only she could touch his cold heart that was always placed between them and their love.

"If you wish to take lunch, sure, Amelia. I just want another butterbeer." James replied, still gazing out the window spying a boy and girl frolicking in the rain. His grin grew slightly as he watched them giggle and shove one another flirtingly. Why was life so complicated?

* * *

"Bloody Merlin! _Don't!_"

"Shhh, just lay still, would you, hon."

"Please, just don't touch it! _No_!"

"Lily! You will not shout at me."

Lily glared at the mediwitch and grabbed a pillow to stuff over her head and screamed; screamed bloody murder as the witch set her horribly broken ankle. Her labored breathing continued as Madame Aatje, the Dutch mediwitch, prodded and poked her ankle while whispering incantations. Sadly, however, Lily had royally torn the ligaments in her ankle along with messily breaking and cracking it all to hell and back.

_This is bloody, sodding brilliant, Lily. You dusch_. Lily yelled at herself. Madame Aatje had yet to obtain a sleepy draught or Tylenol-like substance to ease her sharp, steady pain.

"There dear, the swelling will stay for awhile and you'll have a lovely bruise, so try and stay off it, will you? I've re-sewn the bone and ligaments, but the moment you step wrongly on it, dear, they'll tear like a plumb grape off its vine…."

_Great analogy, you insane, over protective mongoose._ Lily'd sunk down to harassing and name-calling her medi-witch in her head. _And a mongoose! How low can you go?_

Madame Aatje was looking pointedly at her, as Lily tried not to incriminate herself by staring innocently into Aatje's eyes. Lily was known throughout to be somewhat of a klutz, or easily placed in compromising positions where something wrong usually occurred. Could she help it that her genetics weren't kind to her in the way of balance? Honestly, no. What nature giveth, Lily acceptath. Er… something to that effect.

Lily rose to a sitting position and looked to stand when Madame Aatje's hand firmly found its way to Lily's bony shoulder, forcing her back on to the unaccommodating hospital bed. Lily groaned, but didn't bother to protest, she'd suddenly found the room to be uniquely dark, as if the sun had decided to set early. That was her last memory as she soon was engulfed in her dream world.

* * *

A ways away, in the quaint town of Hogsmeade, sat two very lonely people. Staring at one another held no emotion or enjoyment. They pulled off such a stunning façade of toleration and affection when around each other that no one, not even their best friends, could decipher their true emotions. They smiled and chatted, they ate lunch together and he bought her chocolates, they took walks arm in arm, but deeply, in their hearts, the gestures were purely amiable. No passion was sparked, no love embraced. They were two lonely souls acting in a play they were apathetic towards.

* * *

so... any good? review please. 


	6. Dancing

Disclaimer: I own Amelia Bone's personality, not the name itself that's JK Rowlings, I own Mason Dobenecker and the story line. es todo!

a/n: so far, this is my most favorite chapter!

Abarraine. (12 Noviembre. 2006) 9 February. 2007.

* * *

**Hard to be Faithful: Dancing  
**

* * *

James' mind lingered away from the gorgeous Amelia Bones as the fleeting afternoon lights washed into Madame Puddifoot's, the rays of crystal light streamed down through the pristine windows, spreading onto the cluttered tables and dusty floor. The sun's glare hit his glasses, causing him to squint and divert his gaze away from the slowly dying crowd of Hogwart's students standing in the pouring rain to his half empty glass of Applebeer in his warm, calloused hands.

James had long since stopped paying attention to Amelia's rants about the Bones' up-coming Christmas Ball. He'd heard enough about decorations and her hunt for the perfect green Egyptian silk evening gown to last him an eternity. He'd hoped to actually _do_ something in Hogsmeade this time, but no, he was stuck in a smutty girls' café with his _betrothed_ – talking about what hairstyle Amanda Miller had worn and how atrocious it was, "…how could she have stepped out of the dorm like that is beyond me? I'm not sure I even feel sorry for her. Foolish puff. Perhaps I'll buy her a decent mirror..."

James couldn't understand how Amelia could embody every element of female genetics – right from the down-to-earth girl who loves to take walks outside in the spring breeze to the prissy girl who whines when the humidity is too much for her hair to handle.

Her personality wasn't fixed, wasn't a constant variable, it always surprised him how different she was from day to day. Sometimes he hated talking to her, not knowing if he'd get bashed for something wrong he had done or get cooed over. Women; he'd never understand them.

But then, James couldn't help but compare her to Lily Evans, Amelia's best friend -- _his _best friend.

Lily was grounded. Her behavior wasn't completely constant, but she was oh-so-easy to read and she didn't, by any means, have a duel personality. She had that quirky youthful persona that was intermixed with one of intense maturity. She could lead you in the right direction when you were lost… or appear to know where she was going by continuing to blindly lead you with full confidence until by some weird coincidence you found where you should be. She made a habit of sticking gummy bears to the ceiling, she put hot chocolate in her coffee, her socks were never plain, always decorated with some design that never failed to go unnoticed by him. She ate vegetables more than she ate meat, and he was fine with that. Her shoulders always bore a sweater as she complained constantly of the cold. His favorite of hers was a pink one with bright flowers embroidered over its entirety; it fit her personality so well. Her hair either had a ribbon adorning it or a pencil looped into the pony tail. When she was bored, she grabbed a book written in Spanish and muddled her way through its contents.

She was Lily. And no one was like her. People could and would try, but no one had her sweater or her socks, or her knowledge of how much chocolate was ratioed to her breakfast coffee. And what wizard has even _heard_ of gummy bears!

She smiled constantly, however that's what bothered James. Her smiles. She had many, some reached her eyes, others were pity smiles, and some were the 'I've been hurt, but I'm not letting on' smiles. He hated those last smiles because he saw them grace her face all too often. She had mastered keeping her face calm, her eyes dry, her face essentially bright when she hurt, and in turn it pained him to see that she was so insecure about herself that she couldn't grieve properly.

Too much relied on Lily, she had too many people watching her every move-- most not out of respect, but for the sole reason to see her fail. She knew this before James did, and that is why she smiled.

James tossed the idea from his head, knowing that is wasn't just her alone that was feeling the prejudice of being Muggleborn, but he couldn't help but want to change things. To rid those smiling façades from Lily. She of all people didn't deserve them.

Sometimes he wondered why the world turned that way. Why people didn't understand the part where they were all humans, all wizards. What did it matter that you have a family history or not? James cursed his family most of the time, for reasons known, but also because they, especially his father, did not hold his belief on the equality matter.

"James, James. _James_." James' head snapped towards the voice and found Amelia's eyes narrowed and piercing. Her hands gripped her purse on the table top and she sighed heavily. He swallowed.

"I don't understand you at times, James..." She grabbed his chin and held it in her manicured hand. "would you just look at me?" Her hands were soft to the touch and hot, like a child's.

"I mean _look _at me. My face is beautiful James. I don't have blemishes. My make-up is from Italy. I'm a size four, _James_. I've got amazing legs, my hair is always perfect, my perfume is the finest. My father's company is prospering, we're richer than the bloody _Prime Minister_-- James, I _am_ Helen; I'm everything you want... how come you can't see that?"

* * *

"How necessary do you think this is?" The glare he received seemed to motivate him to supplement his question. "I mean some of these people are so low on the social chain that it's like killing a fly. It won't do any real good. No real motivation for--".

"The world is full of networks. Connections. People revolve around one another. You suddenly take one, and someone will feel it. If we kill the right people-- severe connections will be broken. And socially low people, as you put it, are the easiest to reach, to sever."

"So, this_ is _a necessity in the business. Hopefully the world will shutter."

"Precisely. And we have just the connection to tamper with."

* * *

The cycle of pain is a tricky thing. First there's shock, which in itself is a horrible circumstance, but to the victim, a desirable quality. I was in shock – shock from the rain incessantly pounding on my bones, Mason's deep, mysterious eyes looking at me in the cool weather, pulling me into a hypnotic state. And then, being slammed onto a hard, unaccommodating hospital bed, which was all the more romantic when the 'love of your life' was the stalker boy who deposited you there… instead of one luscious Mason Dobenecker.

As I lay here, moaning and grinding my teeth at the pain lashing through my ankle, I can't identify exactly when Mason ditched me. I know when we said goodnight to one another, but then, I remember his face, his shocked adorable face... but then it's gone. My recollection of Mason must be true; he had to have lifted me out of the mud into his warm arms, holding me close in my moments of pain, whispering sweet nothings in my ear….

Don't you just hate it when your memory lapses and you'd just kill a little bit for the memory of those arms?

I know it's wrong to want something that can never be. But I'm not about to give up that easily. Deep down I can remember that Mason handed me off to Caradoc, that he didn't seem to be too perturbed that I wasn't moving. He was scared for his plum colored robes.

I get stuck with the losers, tosers, egotistical morons… maybe I'll get James to fix me up with someone worthy….

Oh, but Mason, he's just so handsome. So beauteous, so gorgeous… so amazing and talented. So charming, exquisite, so lovely, so alluring and classy, so strapping, athletic and brawny, and oh, _so dull._

Oh, Mason Dobenecker, why is it the fates hate us?

* * *

Things didn't go as planned during Hogsmeade. Amelia up and walked out on me, leaving me to eat in a silent reverie that I, despite the situation, greatly enjoyed. She strutted out of Madam Puddifoot's with a pretentious air, attracting all the attention that she could. I tried to look powerful, commanding, but I couldn't. She was the man in this pitiful relationship that we held. I did her bidding, I carried her books, I told her she look gorgeous while trying not to choke on my words as others looked on. I had to lie every moment I was in her presence.

I'd always been taught never to lie, but somehow those lessons never stay with you-- I've never been a saintly child, nowhere near it. But I do know the repercussions that can be evoked from the simple 'white' lie; the turgid language. Especially when it comes to friends and family, whenever I look them in the eyes and lie, a part of me cries out. I don't die, no my conscience isn't that repressing, but I know the harm. I've been surrounded by liars my whole life-- my parents being the most extravagant.

I've always been good at lying, though. No one questions me. No one knows when my sentences are hashed with untruths. I can weed my way out of anything. I've been doidng it my whole life. But this, this with Amelia is something that I can't fix with my fancy tongue.

I don't want to tell my life's story on this dreary day, I don't want to complain and tell you that my life has been a bunch of daisies. That, in itself, would be a lie. However, I believe I make my predicament out to be worse than it truly is. The only thing you need to know now is that I am unique in my family. I value the truth. I value respect and allegiance in a person. And I'm not about to betray for any price, dollar or not.

* * *

"Lilea Kensley Evans, get your butt out of bed this instant! I need you!" Amelia slammed open the dorm door and walked quickly towards Lily's curtain-encased bed. She whipped open the scarlet drapes with fury and hopelessness. Her face was wet with tears, her mascara running through pale, flawless cheeks. Her eyes were bloodshot and her sniffling could not be stopped.

"Lily?" Amelia found an empty bed. Her heart picked up in pace, first for fear for her friend, then in anger. Lily was always there when she needed her. Lily was always there. Now even Lily didn't care for her.

Amelia sank to the floor, her hands wadded in Lily's sheets. Her muffled cries filled the dark room. She swore to herself she'd never cry over James Potter, but somehow he always brought her to tears. He was perfect in her eyes. He was the epitome of her life. The best she would ever had, and she couldn't even capture his love, but somehow Lily had. Maybe not in the romantic way, but Lily had him where Amelia couldn't claim even a hair on his precious head.

With renewed strength Amelia cast a purifying charm on her face, her make-up cleansing and her eyes decreasing in red. She gently stood from her crumpled position and waded through the dormitory toward her vanity. There she reapplied her make-up, reformed her views on life, and straightened her shoulders. This was her life, and she was going to make it extraordinary.

First though, she needed a girl session with her best friend, and besides, Amelia needed all the dishy details on one scrumptious Mason Dobenecker.

Amelia pocketed her wand and headed back down the dormitory stairs, she had cast off her heels earlier and now relished in the feel of her now barefeet on the floor. She drifted down the stairs and into the commons, glancing in every corner for a bit of red hair. Sighing, she found none. Glancing towards the boys' staircase, she resigned herself to finding her best friend and gracefully climbed the stairs. She made her way to the boys' sixth year dorm and rapped gently on the door. Immediately she heard an acknowledgment and walked in.

There, in that messy, disaster field known as "The Marauder's Lair" sat one refined Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter. James had whipped around with a grand smile on his face, expecting Lily, but got a shock as Amelia Bones walked through the door-- looking as gorgeous as ever. His heart raced.

Her demeanor wasn't anything compared to what it had been previously. Her smile, however, was still missing. Her hair had been pulled back into a prim ponytail and her eyes were layered with a thick mascara. All sense of hate, anger and self pity gone from her being. She tried to shove her hands in her pockets but found that the dress pants she currently wore held none. With a high sensitivity as to what her hands were doing, she gripped them in front of her, then quickly flexed them and ran one through her ponytail. All the while, she adverted her eyes from all the Marauders, save Remus Lupin who was shoving a tattered page of parchment under his Arithmancy text. Amelia's eyes quirked as she regarded the parchment with interest, but was distracted by Remus' intense gaze back at her that she deterred her gaze back to the messy room, and finally, to James.

His hair was messy as was usual. His face was absent of his glasses as he held a quill in his hand and a rough pen and ink drawing resided on the desk in front of him. His face inquired at her sudden entry and his hand shook slightly, a slow droplet of ink was building at the tip. He dropped his quill into the ink and turned to face her entirely.

"Have you seen Lily." Her question was strong and forceful, as if demanding more than questioning. Amelia's voice never wavered like Lily's. She was powerful in every facet of her life. Her eyes hardly showed her feelings, like a wall she'd built up to protect her from the insecurities and trifles of life.

James and Remus glanced at one another and then directed their gaze back to Amelia. How out of place she looked in such a homely, unkempt dorm.

"Can't say I have, love." James breathed out. He turned back to gaze at his picture. The workings of a girl walking through a rocky beach lined the page. Her hair was tousled from the wind and a foreboding storm. The horizon was troubled with storm clouds and a lone ship on the verge of being rouged by forceful waves. In the corner a slight sun was trying to emerge from the clouds, fighting for freedom from its ever-increasing constraints. "Perhaps she's still out-- it is only—"

"It's a quarter to one, James. Don't you believe it to be a bit late to 'still be out'?" Amelia interrupted, thrusting her fidgety hands to her hips and cocking her head to the side. Her whole persona was demeaning. You couldn't help but want to melt into the background when her forceful personality was focused on you. James however, had the same domineering nature. He was tall, strong, and refulgent with a mysterious power at times.

Some say you can see whole worlds in people's eyes. In James Potters, you could see the diadem of his heritage. Along with that, the pride, the wisdom, the puissance and evident strength that was him, and cowering was not his temperament. Eeven though Amelia reeled his emotions to an alternate plane, tampered with his thoughts, he was still the mighty James Potter. And hands on her hips, or not, he wouldn't be incriminated falsely.

"Amelia. She's not in the room. I don't keep tabs on Lily—"

"Like hell you don't. James Potter, you and Lily are two peas in a pod. Of course you know her every move. Look, all I want is for you to stop lying to me. Where is she?" Amelia flicked her fingernail and gazed back at him. Their eyes connected.

"I don't know." James stressed. He turned back to his drawing and pushed it aside. "What's the big deal? She's more mature than you are, she can take care of herself. It's not like she's off shagging this boy... this boy..." The thought of Lily shagging someone choked James up, he had to regain his voice.

"Mason Dobenecker." Remus budded in, glancing at James and the pain etched in his face. He had turned from Amelia and was looking at the moon through the window. Remus, not Amelia, could see the horrified look on James' face.

"Why would you think a thing like that, James? I need her is all. And you just _love _to toe the line of lies with me." Remus and Peter exchanged glances as Amelia walked closer to James' desk, advancing on him and his drawing. He stood and took a few long strides to meet her in the middle of the room. Using his height as an intimidating force to stop her petty tirade.

"I don't bloody know where she is. I saw her in Hogsmeade with you and that was the last time, Amelia."

"That's right, James, you were with _me. _Remember that." She bit back.

"You don't care to find Lily at all, do you Amelia? You just wanted a reason to come along and bash me for giving my friend a hug today." James' jaw twitched with annoyance.

Neither of the two noticed the door open and Remus and Peter slither out, not wanting to be anywhere involved in a Potter-Bones argument.

"Is that what you're calling it James? A hug?

"We've been dancing too long Amelia. I think we both need to open our eyes and realize that we don't want one another! I'm tired of playing this game with you. I can't be bleeding _perfect _for you. I don't like to sit in Puddifoot's all day drinking bitter tea. I don't care what color robes you choose to wear to your Christmas party-- Amelia, I don't_ care_."

Amelia's face had gone lax. Her big blue eyes blinked furiously, but she gazed back into James' eyes, searching for the real truth through his obvious lies.

"You can't mean that. James, please don't mean that. I love you. I care about you, if I didn't I'd be off with another man right now. I wouldn't care that you hugged Lily. James, please, _please _don't say such a thing." Amelia whispered. She reached her hand up to his cheek, feeling the warmth that radiated out of him. His face was rugged from not shaving. His jaw was tight as he clenched and unclenched it. His eyes closed slowly as Amelia began tracing her fingertips over his face, down his cheek and over the length of his jaw. Her thumb ran its way over his lips, finding them full. Amelia's other hand made its way into his thick, black hair, twirling the short strands. She moved her hand to his back and felt his shoulder blades. She ran her fingertips over his spine and leaned into him, breathing in his scent.

"James, you don't mean such a thing. You don't." She spoke in a hushed tone, her breath falling onto his neck, sending goosebumps over his skin.

She was pleading for his response, but all James could see was a picture that kept replaying on the inside of his eyelids, Lily and Mason walking hand in hand down the picturesque streets of Hogsmeade. Lily would smile and lean into Mason when he spoke to her, but James couldn't help but notice that Lily kept glancing over her shoulder at him, at James.

"James," Amelia sighed into him, her flowery fragrance only amplifying his picture of Lily. "kiss me."

* * *

a/n: that's all there is for this chapter, folks! Review please, tell me what you think.

Abarraine


	7. Hitched

disclaimer: I own the story line and Mason Dobnecker, es todo.

update: lily dealing with hogsmeade trauma. James dealing with lady trauma.

a/n: I hope you all really really enjoy this, cuz i absolutely LOVE writing this story. feedback please! And i want to apologize for, well... leaving this story a lone for SO long. Its been a crazy year. hope you enjoy and sorry again that it is so short. I figured I should at least post something. :)

please review!

Abarraine.February 14.2008.Hard to be Faithful.

* * *

His breath hitched in his throat as her fingers drew sensuous circles on his neckline. His eyes grew heavy as her body pressed against his and her hands traversed down his back and into his hair sending unwanted shivers down his spine and goosebumps on his skin. Her breath was intoxicating; mint and ginger overwhelmed his senses. His eyelashes fluttered down for a moment, enveloping him in a tantalizing darkness. And yet, her scarlet lips had not penetrated his resistance. His hands had not found their way to her flaunting hips. He stood stock still, as a statue, his mind screaming at him to move, step away, pull away, but altogether he was frozen by her sumptuous aura.

His breathing was heavy as he fixed his eyes away from every divine curve of her face. She ran her slender fingers through his mane, inciting a desire inside him that James did not know he possessed. He felt like he was suffocating. She wasn't relenting and his stamina was being overtaken by her vixen-like ways. Her lips ran themselves against his collarbone, finding the skin soft and warm. She traveled up his neck, sucking on his open skin. She could feel his body relaxing and she grinned into him….

* * *

"Take this medication with every meal – eat every meal – for the next two weeks and it'll strengthen that old bone right up, dear! Now you may scoot out of here. And don't be hard on it; do you remember what I told you? No running, dancing, skipping, broom riding, speed-walking, …"

"…jumping, leaping, vaulting, skating – even though it's March and rainy, and absolutely no exerting myself, for the next five years of my life." Lily finished Madam Aatje's rant with faded exuberance as the mediwitch looked down on her with contempt. Lily produced a quick half smile and all but threw the covers back over her strawberry head.

"We'll see your condition in the morning, Lily. Sleep now." And with those utterly vague words about the time of her wonderous departure, Aatje slipped back into her office.

Lily lay in bed, tossing and turning for hours. She had slept a bit, but nightmares had plagued her. The white room seemed to be closing in on her, the rows of beds and nicely made identical beds caused for an OCD-like fear to overcome her. She needed to get out. She needed her bed. She needed Amelia. She couldn't stare at the empty beds any longer, nor listen to the howling of the wind through the cracks in the stone. She was creeped out and all she wanted was a hug after a horrendous day!

Only one choice left: master the excursion back to the tower of Gryffindor. With a determined smile and fortitude. Lily grabbed an extra blanket off her bed and limped out the door to freedom.

The cool, moist fresh air collided instantly with her face, sending shivers down her spine as she stepped out of the stuffy infirmary. Lily sighed with relief and concentrated with all her might on the task before her. Lily mustered up her strength as she limped up the revolving staircase. Her head was still fuzzy from the pain that radiated inside her ankle. She should have taken the pain solution that Aatje kept forcing on her. But she couldn't, she hated potions, every one had a slight defect and affected your body in such preposterous ways that Lily, being the wiz in Potions, decided she never wanted to risk. Just think, the pepper-up potion made you steam like a ridiculous train for the next day or two. Who wanted to go from class to class with such a catastrophe in your ears? Lily sure didn't.

She grasped the railing and stopped every few steps to muster the strength to continue in her trek. She cursed herself for being so stubborn when it came to inhaling potions, but she knew that the result, the non-absorption of toxic chemicals, would eventually be worth it. Or at least she hoped beyond all that was good that it would be worth it.

The chilly March air whipped through her light robes and caught in her hair, sending an anxious amount of shivers through her body. She was sweating from exertion and prayed that the staircase wouldn't shift and provide more of a trek for her. She could feel her anemic body plunging into depths of weakness and cold. She just needed to be warm in her comforter, buried deep in the depths so that no one would know she was there, and no one would bother her.

"Why is life so damn difficult?" Lily muttered as she resumed her climb. The end of the stairs came as she diligently continued. She sat on the utmost step to catch her breath, hoping that someone would walk past at this ridiculous hour of two in the morning and help her along. Gah, if only she had her mirror to signal James, he'd probably get out of his comfort to rescue her. Come to think of it, she still had her wand; she could try and summon him with her remaining strength….

She heaved herself, tediously, off the slimy stairs and trudged on, knowing that it was fruitless to spend so much time lingering in self-pity and the hopes that she somehow had enough strength to cast a powerful summons charm; impossible. She'd have to make it to the Gryffindor tower on her own, that much power she could expend – she could stop and rest when needed, no trouble whatsoever.

She was full of bullocks.

About 45 minutes later Lily was shivering and damp from a combination of sweat, humidity and a returning fever. Her foot was throbbing and likely to re-break. She slammed her body gently against a stonewall to catch her breath. She glanced around at her bearings, only to be overcome with a shock of fear – she had no idea where she was. She had taken a wrong turn, the stairs must have moved - she was lost. In her haziness and pain, her head swiveled around for some distinguishing mark. Her body flew to action as she tried to haul herself up into a standing position. The movement was too sudden for her. She gripped the wall and closed her emerald eyes. The world was in a whirlwind and everything was up in a turvy. She opened her eyes again only to be met with blackness and a light feeling that overtook her whole body. With fear and an inkling of relief, Lily welcomed the silent darkness.

* * *

Amelia moaned into him as James shivered. Her scent was filling his nose and masking his visions of Lily and her flowing red locks. He felt his mind was going numb as her hands tingled along his neckline. Lily's smile and twinkling eyes faded into the vast nothing of this dizziness. He could almost feel Amelia grinning into him as she melted into his embrace. She ran her hands down to his waist, lingering along his stomach then began to fiddle with his belt buckle, whipping James out of his fuzzy nightmare where little self-control lingered into hyper mode and all but shoved Amelia away. She slammed into his desk, causing his ink to shatter and cover his portrait of the tantalizing woman on the shore. His hard work ruined.

Ameila glanced up at him, in awe of his power and aggressiveness. James was standing there, stunned and trained on his ruined portrait. As she stepped forward he came into action and side stepped her and picked up his portrait from the growing puddle of black ink. His jaw went tight as he looked at the ruined picture and all but threw it to the ground, only for Amelia to pick up.

There they were, intent on two different goals: Amelia wanted him, he wanted to lose her. He was stock still as she gazed at the ruined portrait, but she was still able to see the muse for his drawings, Lily. She quickly, as though struck, dropped the spiteful portrait and slapped James across the face with all her might.

"You dirty little bastard! How could you! How dare you _love_ such a pitiful creature! How can you LOVE my friend!? James, How could you ruin me!" Amelia screamed in his face. Her hair was coming undone and her eyes were leaking a distinct amount of tears. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards her, "You would dare even _look_ at that worthless mudblood when you could have _me_?" Amelia seethed not an inch from his stoic face. His jaw increased in tightness as he reiterated the words "mudblood, worthless, _me_" inside his head. He was breathing fire, but she hardly noticed as her anger burned brighter than even the bleeding sun.

"I would." He seethed. And she kissed him. She kissed him so hard her teeth sunk into his bottom lip and she grinned into him as they both felt the release of sticky blood, a sharp iron taste of a botched kiss.

James flinched remarkably and shoved the lithe girl off him. She stumbled once again into his dresser and her bare feet trampled over his portrait, tearing a whole in the place where his woman had resided.

"You fucking bastard, come back here!" Amelia screamed as he slammed the door, exiting the Marauder's Lair and stomped down the stairs. He fumbled with his wand in his pocket as his other hand felt his burning lip. His fingertips were covered with syrupy blood. His attention was stuck on his fingers, on how his 'fiancé' could inflict so much pain upon him. Emotionally and physically, he was plagued.

"What the hell!?" James whipped around at the sound of the voice behind him. It was Sirius, rising from his seat near the fire. He had been doing some late night studying when he'd spotted his battered best mate stumbling down the staircase. "What the hell, James, get in a fight with a boggart?" Sirius stepped up to James and examined the red welt that ran across his cheekbone and his ripped lips. James glared openly to the room, seeing right past Sirius. His anger radiated and his blood pulsed wildly through his veins. He shoved past Sirius, hardly recognizing his best friend and flew through the porthole, leaving a stunned Sirius in his wake.

James' mind reeled from the last few minutes. Not only had he felt complete and utter _hate_ towards another soul, but also for his soul. He had been tempted and fallen to the likes of Amelia Bones. He, even though his mind longed for a certain other, couldn't stop the racing his heart took when Amelia ran her hands over his face, neck and back. He thought he was invincible to her siren ways; he had always been able to distract himself with other thoughts. But just now, alone, he had been broken. And it scared the living shit out of him.

Someone could control him.

As he marched through the deserted hallways, muttering profanities attached to the Bones' name, he came upon a sight that stopped him in his tracks.

There, in a huddled mess, was the catalyst of the night's events. The figure was tiny and curled; he would have mistaken her for just a black mass if he hadn't noticed the moonlight streaming over the red pools of hair strewn across the cobblestone. James' mind went into overdrive for the second time that night. His heart hammered in his chest, but the beat was a more of a tender fear than the plaguing fear that Amelia had left him. His mind raced immediately to the reasons of why she would be here at such an hour – was she attacked by some mudblood hating Slytherin? Was there a perverted boy hanging around nearby and had just defiled his Lily? Anger once again surged through his body. He swooped down and gathered the girl into his arms. He noticed her damp skin and the unnatural heat that radiated from her. He held her sweaty head underneath his chin, kissed her forehead, and headed hurriedly towards Madame Aatje.

short. yes. i'm sorry. but at least i managed to get this uploaded!

review and ill write... more incentive the more progress i make!

love,

Abarraine


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